


Frabjous Portents

by Quilly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Demons AU, Earth Agent Michael, Existential Crisis, Heaven & Hell, Minor Violence, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sensual Tension, Sporadic Updates, Utterly Ridiculous, corporate culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: The demon Crawly lands on the demon Aziraphale at the end of the Fall. Nowhere to go but up, really.A rambling, episodic AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are both demons from the start.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect frequent updates or anything all that cohesive about this AU, it's mostly a silly idea I wanted to bang away at now and then. There should be some fun twists and turns along the way, but expect a very tame low-stakes canon retelling, more or less. Can't even promise that I'll finish it, but come along with me for the ride anyway.

Crawly’s crash-landing from his Fall was not as hard as he would have expected. All things considered, it was quite soft.

“I beg your pardon,” something under Crawly’s backside said, “but do you think you could move?”

“What?” Crawly frowned, then looked. Oh. He landed on someone. That someone had white fluffy hair starting to frizz in the sulfur bath they were both sitting in, and a cushiony frame that was surprisingly comfortable to lounge on. They waved.

“Oh,” Crawly said, and stood on wobbly legs. He spread his wings for balance and stared—they hadn’t been such a deep matte black before. It didn’t look half-bad, to be honest. “Erm—there you go.”

“Thank you,” the someone said, and stood, wringing liquid from their tattered blackened robe and shaking out their wings, which were more of an aged cream than white but still stood out in the gloom. “So. This is Hell, is it?”

“Suppose so,” Crawly shrugged, looking around. Angels were still Falling in impressive fiery comets, dragging themselves to shore from the sulfur pits, blue flames dancing across the dark jagged stones. Already queues were forming, though for what Crawly wasn’t sure.

“Capital,” the someone Crawly had sat on said brightly. “This doesn’t look so bad, all told.”

No, Crawly privately agreed, it didn’t.

That was, of course, before Management took full effect.

Between the cramped office space and the perpetual scowls and the pervasive smell of mildew, it was a relief to Crawly to be grabbed by the collar, forced into a more serpentine shape, and hurled at the ceiling, a growled “get up there and make some trouble” echoing in his snaky ears. Earholes? Ear-things? Contemplating his own herpetological anatomy was cut short by a stinging on the end of his tail, which persisted until he had drawn the whole length of himself through the rich topsoil of Eden, and with it a ragged barn owl that had the tip of his tail clamped in its beak.

“Gerroff!” Crawly hissed, snapping his tail. The owl fluttered away a pace or two.

“Terribly sorry, old fellow,” the owl said, and Crawly recognized the voice. “I do hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I…well, it pinched a bit,” Crawly muttered peevishly, rustling his coils and drawing his abused tail tip back underneath himself. “They sent you up, too?”

“Oh, dear me, no,” the owl chuckled nervously. “No, I—I rather thought I needed a change of scene, as it were. There’s only so many times you can catalog the rocks around the sulfur pits before someone drags you back into the office to fill out Form 1080-B or whichever one it is now. Dreadful place, now that there’s paperwork involved. Dreadful.”

Crawly sighed. “Alright, fair enough.” He looked around at the tall trees and other assorted verdure. “Any idea what I’m meant to be doing up here, then?”

“Oh, I couldn’t presume to know,” the owl said, fluttering up to a tree and inspecting the globular green objects hanging from the branches. “What do you suppose this is?”

“Dunno, I was on star-making duty, not the Earth department,” Crawly said. The owl studied the green things, then plucked one in his beak and took it back down to the ground.

“It smells lovely,” the owl said, and pecked at it. The skin of the object tore, revealing soft pale flesh beneath, and a sweet smell erupted from it as well as a spray of juice. The owl made a sound, not quite a hoot, very nearly a moan. “Oh. Oh, my. It _tastes_ lovely, too.”

“Right.” Crawly tasted the air over the object. It did smell good, but not enough to tempt him to take a bite, himself. “I’ll leave you to it, I suppose.”

“Oh, are you going?” the owl asked, taking another beak-full of object.

“Yeah. Job to do and all that,” Crawly said, shrugging his coils as best he could.

“Well. Do have fun, old boy,” the owl said cheerily, and carried on eating. Crawly shook his head and slithered off to explore. Not right, that one. Or wrong. Or…something. Odd. Very odd owl.

Crawly explored Eden at his own pace. He found the humans early on, playing some kind of game with a lot of chasing and tickling, the rules of which were beyond him. He clocked the four guards on the walls and steered clear. He even saw the owl now and then, beak sticky as he crammed what the humans were calling fruits into his gullet, the feathers on his chest sticky and pink. He looked like he was enjoying himself, anyway. Crawly let him be.

One day, Crawly found the Eve human on her own, sitting on his favorite rock and enjoying the sun. Crawly could appreciate such an activity and thought, what’s the harm? He quietly slid up on the rock next to hers, hissing softly by way of greeting. Eve glanced at him, then smiled.

“Hello,” she said. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“All the days here have been nice,” Crawly pointed out. “Which is all well and good, but a bit boring, really.”

“I suppose,” Eve pondered. “Still. Today seems especially nice.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Crawly had a good doze going until a snapping twig broke his concentration. He focused his vision and realized the owl was back, this time in his two-legged form, and he was reaching for a firm red fruit in a tree set a little apart in the clearing.

“Excuse me!” Eve called, and the owl startled, nearly dropping the fruit.

“Ah—yes?” the owl replied. Eve stood and began to walk over to him. Crawly sighed and followed. This could be interesting.

“Who are you?” Eve asked the owl. “You look like one of the angels who guards the gates.”

“Ah…yes, I suppose I must do,” the owl said nervously. Crawly resisted the urge to giggle. “I, er—I’m just taking a sampling of these delightful treats, don’t mind me.”

“But the apples are forbidden,” Eve said.

“Apples?” the owl cocked his head.

“Forbidden?” Crawly echoed. “Great tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘don’t touch’ sign, when all the others are free game? That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Rather foolish, I thought,” the owl sniffed.

“The Almighty forbade it,” Eve said, but she sounded troubled. “The Almighty said we weren’t to touch.”

“So it’s a test,” Crawly observed. “And a rigged one, too, if you ask me.”

“Well, the Almighty never forbade _me_ from it,” the owl said, and brought the apple to his face, inhaling deeply. Crawly watched, fascinated despite himself. He’d seen the owl eating every day, but this savoring technique was…new. The owl ran his tongue over the skin, then opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into the fruit. It crunched and snapped like nothing else in the Garden had before. There was no mistaking it this time—the owl moaned in unbridled pleasure. It sent an electric shock all the way down Crawly’s spine. Surely it couldn’t be that good an apple, could it?

“Oh, my,” the owl sighed. “Delicious.” He wiped the juice from his chin and sucked it from his fingers. Crawly’s throat dried up entirely. The owl’s large, dark eyes snapped up, and he smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make such a spectacle.” He held out the apple in his round hand, the picture of innocence, round cheeks and friendly smile still shiny with juice. “Did you want to try?”

Crawly, for a mad moment, wanted to push Eve out of the way and have at the apple himself.

Instead, he nudged her with his snout. Crawly knew a good opportunity when he saw one. “Go on,” he encouraged. “He ate it, and it’s fine.”

“It…does look good,” Eve said, faltering, eyeing the apple.

“Here,” the owl smiled, and plucked a second apple, placing it directly in Eve’s hands. “Share it with that lovely young man of yours.”

“O-okay,” Eve said, and wrapped her fingers around her prize.

In hindsight, Crawly should have noticed the rapidly-growing clouds in the sky, but in his defense, he was figuring out swapping back from snake-shaped to demon-shaped and it took a little more effort, with the memory of the owl’s yielding mouth and throaty voice plaguing him. That, and watching the whole humans-getting-thrown-out debacle without getting caught. Tricky business, that.

“Well,” Crawly said later, standing by the owl on the abandoned wall, “that went down like a—”

“It’s my fault,” the owl said tearfully. “I should never have offered them the apple, I had no idea She would kick them out over it.”

“Reckon we’ve done our demonic duty here, really,” Crawly said. “Er.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s true,” the owl sighed. “But, still, there’s no fruit trees out there, and it’s going to be cold, and sand is ever so ghastly to try and walk over. That’s why I—I—”

“You what?” Crawly asked, a dawning amusement in his heart. Despite it all, he couldn’t help but be curious about what this drab, dusty, daft thing would say next.

“I, um.” The owl fidgeted. “Well, I was supposed to be on guard duty, you see, back before the—well—Before. And. I suppose when I Fell, my—my sword was reassigned.”

“Right, right,” Crawly nodded. “Go on.”

“The guardian of the Eastern Gate had it, just out in the open while he was tearing a bloody great hole in the wall to kick the poor things out,” the owl pouted. “And it sort of…it called out to me. So. I summoned it.”

“You…summoned your old sword?” Crawly grinned. “Did it work? Can I see?”

“Well, yes, it worked, but I don’t have it anymore,” the owl fretted.

“Lost it already, have you?” Crawly asked, disappointed but still suitably impressed that the owl had tried, at least.

“I…” the owl trailed off into mumbling.

“Sorry?”

More mumbling, bit more emphatic.

“What?”

“I gave it away!” the owl burst out. “Handed it to Eve and told her to walk fast and never look back! Oh, I’m an awful demon, I—”

“You’re brilliant,” Crawly breathed. The owl ceased from ruffling his wing feathers and stared, dark eyes huge.

“I’m what?”

“You—you came up here without being told,” Crawly said, “tempted the humans to eat the forbidden fruit, got them kicked out, then stole a holy weapon and gave it to the sods who just got in trouble. That’s proper wicked, that is. You’re the best demon I’ve ever heard of.”

“Oh,” the owl said, “well, when you put it that way…”

“All you need is someone who can sell what you did back to Head Office,” Crawly said, getting an idea. “What’s your name?”

“Oh—Aziraphale,” the owl said.

“Bit angelic, isn’t it?” Crawly asked. Aziraphale flushed, the fluffy wings that had just finished calming down puffing up again.

“All the other good names were already taken,” he said primly. “What’s yours, then?”

“Crawly,” Crawly said, and grimaced. “I see what you mean.” Aziraphale gave a delicate nod of the head. “Well. You stole an angel’s weapon, don’t see why you can’t steal an angel’s name, too. We should work together, you and me.”

“Work…together?” Aziraphale sounded doubtful.

“Yeah. Y’know, like we did convincing Eve,” Crawly said. “You did a lot of the heavy lifting, but I sealed the deal. We could make a good team, us.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said. Crawly had a horror, for a moment, that he’d overdone it, made Aziraphale think maybe he didn’t need Crawly after all, but a moment later Aziraphale smiled and nodded, blindingly sincere. “Yes, I quite like that idea. Partners.”

“Partners,” Crawly nodded. “Just you wait, angel. We’re going to do big things, you and me.”

In the end, it took no convincing at all to get the Dark Council to approve Crawly and Aziraphale’s joint agent appointment. The casting out of the human race from God’s presence was a hell of a note to begin a career on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owl demon Aziraphale is not incredibly original but it felt like something fun to play off of Crowley's snake form, so there we go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, another update so soon, amazing :P Be prepared to meet Earth's Heavenly agent (spoiler alert: they're not best pleased about it)

“I don’t understand,” Michael said, her voice tight, staring down at the packet Gabriel had just put into her hands.

“We voted,” Gabriel said helpfully. “Someone has to get down there and keep an eye on things. Uriel and Sandalphon agreed with me—it should be you.”

“Me?” Michael grimaced. “Why me? I thought one of the Guardians was assigned—”

“Yes, unfortunately, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate misplaced his sword and was labeled unfit for duty,” Gabriel said, clasping his hands in an apologetic sort of way.

“There are three other gates,” Michael ground out. “Three other Guardians.”

“They’ve already been reassigned and it would take too much paperwork to transfer them back down,” Gabriel sighed. “Oh, and the Guardian of the Northern Gate said they were not under any circumstances willing to go down, except on direct calling from God Herself, and the Metatron is tied up in meetings for the foreseeable future. We need somebody down there now, effective immediately.”

Michael flipped through the packet and skimmed such inane titles as “Human Growth and Development” and “Linear Time and You.”

“You still never answered my question,” Michael said sourly. “Why me?”

“Come on, the Spear of God, going down there and dispensing justice? It’s great for publicity!” Gabriel grinned, giving Michael’s arm a one-two playful punch. “Hell’s already got two agents down there working together to cause as much chaos as possible, I’m sure, so we need to get on the ball.”

“Why don’t you come down with me, then, since there’s two of them?” Michael asked, not out of any great desire to spend more time with Gabriel, but if she was going to be banished to that wretched little mudball, she at least wanted someone to commiserate with.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, there’s too much work to be done here,” Gabriel shrugged, regretful in all respects except for in the eyes. “Come on, you’re an Archangel. You can handle a couple of low-life demons easy. You threw Satan out of Heaven, you got this!”

“Mm,” Michael said, wishing dearly for her Spear now, but it was under lock and celestial key until Armageddon, along with Gabriel’s trumpet (though that certainly was no real loss; incidental brass music was one aspect of the Before times Michael didn’t miss at all). “How…how soon should I get down there, then?”

“Oh, take a minute to wrap up whatever you need to up here, but we need you to report to Adam and Eve’s camp as soon as possible,” Gabriel said, taking out his celestial tablet and tapping away on it, his attention clearly already elsewhere. “You’ll find the details on the last sheet of your Welcome to Earth packet. Read it carefully before you go. Later, champ! You’ve got this!”

Michael plastered a smile to her face and felt it go a little feral on the edges as soon as Gabriel’s back was turned. So Sandalphon and Uriel had agreed to banishing her, hmm? Michael’s feet started moving before she realized she’d made a decision to visit her…colleagues. She’d further skim the packet on the way. Lower-ranked angels and the Firmament itself leapt out of her way as she stalked through Heaven, one eye on where she was going, the other absorbing as much information about God’s inane little pet project as her brain would allow. It wasn’t much, frankly, just a tutorial about the life cycle of humans and the barest strokes of what she was to do while down there—keep them on the Straight and Narrow, out of reach of Demonic Wiles, and should they stray, call them to Repent or Face Eternal Damnation. Who had written this? Michael needed to have a word with whoever had been abusing their capitals.

Uriel’s office materialized soon enough, and Michael barged in without knocking, slapping the packet down on Uriel’s desk and glowering at them. Uriel looked at her, then at the packet, and gave her a knowing look.

“Morning, Michael,” Uriel said, setting aside their celestial tablet, which, for a moment before it flickered off, had been displaying a matching game that had recently become popular among the lower choirs. “I see you received your assignment.”

“I want to know why the Archangels voted on this without me,” Michael said, steely-eyed and square-jawed. “And why I’m the one getting thrown under the bus, as it were.”

“The Metatron thinks the humans need a protector,” Uriel said, folding their hands. “You’re the strongest angel we have right now. The Metatron was very clear that humanity is weak-willed and easily swayed. Just look at the whole apple business.”

“Right,” Michael said peevishly. She was personally still affronted that she’d gone through all the trouble to casting demons out in Her name, clearing out the way for the Almighty’s little world to begin, all for the humans to turn around and not do as they were told by Her directly. Contrarian little beasts. “The humans need a guardian…so you send a general. Yes. Makes loads of sense.”

“The Armies of Heaven will still have you, when the time comes,” Uriel said, an odd little smile playing in the corners of their mouth, “but until then…think of it as recruiting for the future. We know the humans’ souls are going to play some part in the End Times, though we don’t know exactly what that is yet. For all we can tell, God wants to keep the really special ones as pets in Eternal Salvation. And whatever God wants…”

“Is our duty, yes, I understand,” Michael grimaced. “Alright. Fine. I’ll do it. But I want vacation days.”

“We’ll set something up after you’re all settled,” Uriel said soothingly, picking up their tablet again. “Well, go on, off you pop to the Quartermaster. You’ll be needing a body for life on Earth.”

Michael made another face but respected Uriel’s dismissal, grumbling under her breath about the indignity of it all. She was the hero of the Great War, or so she’d been told over and over by starry-eyed young angels and suitably-impressed inferiors and Gabriel himself. This was not the treatment she was expecting in response to her loyal service.

A part of Michael wanted to storm the Throne and ask what She was playing at, allowing Michael to be sent down, but a second thought occurred that stopped her in her tracks. Maybe this was a test. Maybe she was being sent to prove she was humble enough to be trusted with the Armies of Heaven. She had proved herself as a commander…perhaps she needed to prove herself as a suitable servant to the Almighty. It wasn’t cheering, exactly, but it did give Michael the needed strength to shut down the wailing, whingeing part of her and report to the Quartermaster.

The Quartermaster presented her with a corporation that was…short. And wiry. Hard-limbed, hard-jawed. It would do.

“Try not to lose it,” the Quartermaster said, residual purple in his face, and Michael wondered if the Guardian of the Eastern Gate’s ears were still ringing from their dressing-down.

Thus armed, Michael beamed down to Earth and immediately felt a squelching handful of some foul-smelling substance hit the side of her face.

She was aware of shrieking and muffled giggles, but as she wiped the grime from her face, all she felt was a certain sense of irony. _Humble_ , she thought wryly, watching the mud slide through her fingers and drip onto her pristine white robe. Right.

Michael looked to where the mud had come from, and saw two small humans, neither Adam nor Eve, who were staring at her wide-eyed and covered from head to toe in the stuff. Immediately they pointed at each other. These must be children, Michael thought, remembering her training packet. The bullet point on children had just said they were small humans who had not yet grown up and needed extra care and attention from adult humans. Well. Easy enough to accomplish. Michael fixed on a smile. The smaller of the two cowered behind its fellow.

“Hello,” Michael said, and the children screamed, retreating to a biggish sort of rock and hiding behind it, peeking around it at her. Michael tried not to frown. “Erm. Alright, you can go over there if you wish.” The mud reminded her of its existence by slipping under her collar, and she shuddered, snapping her fingers. All mud evaporated and vanished off her person instantly. Better. “Where are your…adult humans?”

The children looked at each other, then at Michael. The bigger of the two pointed. Michael followed its finger and saw a plume of smoke rising from the dunes, and the tip of a mud hut roof. Michael controlled her grimace and looked back at the children.

“Very good,” she said, and nodded. “Behave yourselves, now, little ones. Don’t throw mud at strangers.”

Feeling that they had been suitably chastised, Michael turned her attention to making herself known to Adam and Eve. At least with adults, it should go a lot smoother, this whole talking business. Maybe the children hadn’t yet been taught.

Michael had been walking for several minutes when she heard giggling behind her, and turned. The children ducked behind some brush, but they were following her, their dark eyes huge and curious, muffling laughter in their hands. Michael narrowed her eyes, casting out her awareness, but she could find no other source of possible entertainment, so they must have been laughing at her. Had she missed a spot of mud, perhaps? Was her halo on crooked? Bedraggled wings?

No, all things checked out to her satisfaction; her wings were as sleek and silver as they’d been in Heaven and her halo was adjusted to the proper brightness for a casual mid-day visit. The mud hadn’t dared cling to her sandals, when she glared at it, nor had any of the sand. Maybe the children were imbecile in some way.

Unable to find a reason for their merriment, Michael cast it aside and continued her journey. The mud hut came into full view soon enough, with Eve sitting outside of it, twisting fibers together to make some kind of string. She noticed Michael’s approach and stood, calling out for Adam, who exited the house, looking sleepy.

“Cain! Abel!” Eve called next, and the children whipped past Michael, scurrying to their mother and watching Michael walk nearer from the cover of Eve’s arms.

“Hello,” Michael said, stopping a respectable distance from the dwelling and letting her wings fan out a bit, catching the sunlight in her feathers. The humans cowered. Michael felt a bit pleased about it, but recalled a line from her packet about how to properly address the humans and relented from showing off too much. “Be not afraid.”

“Who are you?” Adam called, his arms around his family. “Why are you here?”

“I am here to protect you,” Michael said, hoping her façade of serenity properly masked the tendril of unease when her proclamation didn’t seem to ease the humans’ discomfort. “And to teach you the right way to follow the Almighty.”

“That’s a bit rich,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Michael’s wings bristled at the sudden feeling in the air—a wrongness that set her teeth on edge and ruffled her feathers something awful. She turned towards the oil-slickness of something evil and saw a lanky demon in a black robe slinking towards the scene, a second demon on his heels. The second looked plump and foolish and seemed to recognize Michael right away, catching the arm of his companion and stopping him from approaching further. Michael flared her wings at them and lifted her chin.

“Begone, evil ones,” Michael said, “and leave these humans be.”

“Evil’s a bit strong,” the skinny one protested. “We haven’t done anything even a little evil for at least a couple hours.”

Michael focused on the round one, gazing straight into the ruined, punctured heart of him and seeing the wretched little owl-shaped soul of his hiding in the corporation. The round one squeaked, an undignified sound, but there was something familiar about him, all the same…hadn’t he been a principality, Before?

“Crawly,” the round one said, “we—we should go. We should go now.”

“Come on, Aziraphale, it’s not like she’s going to smite us—”

“Aziraphale,” Michael repeated, her memory popping on. “Yes, that was your name, wasn’t it. I remember you now.” Aziraphale turned a pale shade of green. Michael looked down her nose, although Aziraphale was taller. “Always late for drills, never the first to volunteer for sparring, and didn’t I catch you napping on the job once or twice?” Aziraphale swallowed hard. Michael let a corner of her mouth twitch. “Well. Can’t say I’m surprised you’ve sunk so low, when you couldn’t even do the bare minimum. Hell will accept just about anyone these days.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked at his feet. The skinny one, Crawly, looked offended on his behalf.

“Oi! You leave him alone, you feathery bully!” Crawly said, pulling his arm free from Aziraphale’s slackened grip and taking a step towards her. Michael raised her eyebrow.

“I have business with the humans,” Michael said, letting some divine thunder crackle in her voice. “If you go away now, I might forget which way you went and not hunt you for sport, demon. If you continue to stay here, I will certainly take pleasure in smiting you where you stand.” Lightning flashed in Michael’s eyes. “Leave.”

“I’m just saying, it’s rubbish that God kicked them out and now won’t let them be—yes, alright, I know, I’m coming, I—” Crawly didn’t seem cowed, but did let Aziraphale drag him away by the arm, which was good enough. Michael marked their general direction for reference and did not return her gaze to the humans until the demons were well out of earshot.

“Pardon,” Eve said, and Michael turned her attention back to them, who looked less afraid and more confused now, “what was it you called them?”

“Demons,” Michael said. “They’re demons, which means they are evil and you shouldn’t listen to them. I am an angel, and I am good, and you should listen to me.”

“I see,” Eve said, though her gaze was doubtful. “Why are they evil?”

“Because they are demons,” Michael said.

“Why?”

“Because they cast aside God’s law and threw off Her authority, which makes them no longer angels.”

“Why?”

Michael wasn’t sure if she could get migraines but it sure felt like one was developing now. This was going to be a long assignment, she could just tell. Uriel had better deliver on those vacation days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be another update soon following up on this from the demons' point of view, not sure yet; I'm just letting this thing flow as it happens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, some demon boys bonding! Astonishing. Warnings for a descent into Hell for this chapter and some Attempted Violence.

Crawly continued to squirm and protest as Aziraphale frog-marched him away (or snake-marched. Could snakes march? Either way, this one was).

“Come on, Aziraphale, there were two of us and one of them and she wouldn’t have done anything in front of the humans—”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, his voice very quiet, “yes, I rather think she would have.”

That had the smacking of knowledge in it.

“Why? Who was she?” Crawly frowned.

“You didn’t recognize her?” Aziraphale said. “Well, no, I suppose she was a bit—without the Spear and all, really the Spear adds a few inches—”

“Angel,” Crawly rolled his eyes, “talk straight, would you?”

“Michael,” Aziraphale said, and his fingers spasmed. “It was—it was the Archangel Michael.”

Ah.

Oh, that was…a problem.

“Probably could have taken her,” Crawly sulked, rather than face up to his error in judgement.

“A failed former soldier and a…whatever it was you did…would fare pretty badly against the general of Heaven,” Aziraphale said, still quiet. His grip was firm on the back of Crowley’s neck and on his arm but not so firm Crawly couldn’t get away, if he wished. _If_ he wished. He was actually in the middle of making a discovery about the temperature of Aziraphale’s skin that would likely catch up to him momentarily. “For whatever it’s worth to you, serpent, I would rather not see you struck down like that.”

“Er.” Crawly tried to process this but had just come to the conclusion that Aziraphale was wonderfully warm; the resulting thought collision would take some sorting through. They made it back to their camp in silence, and Aziraphale finally let go of Crawly, startled, as though he’d just remembered he was holding him in the first place. The lack of _softwarmstrong_ did wonders for clearing up Crawly’s mental blockage, though his perpetually cool skin mourned the loss.

“I think it might be best if we don’t visit the humans for a while,” Aziraphale said, and looked around at the modest little mud hut and fire pit that had served as the demons’ base of operations for some time. “And perhaps we might want to think about moving.”

“Moving?” Crawly frowned. “Why?”

Aziraphale shot him a look, and it was a specific look that Crawly was learning to read quite easily. Instead of answering, Aziraphale instead went into the hut and began to put things in a knapsack Eve had shown them how to make. Crawly seethed. They had a good gig going—Hell wasn’t on their backs about quotas just yet, since there were only four humans right now, and until Michael there hadn’t been any Heavenly presence, either. He kicked a dirt clod and pouted, sitting himself on the log in front of their fire pit. Stupid Heaven. Stupid angels. Throwing people out for no reason and then looking down their prissy noses at them. Crawly hated them. Much preferred his not-an-angel angel. Speaking of.

“Construction,” Crawly said, and Aziraphale poked his head out.

“What was that?”

“Construction,” Crawly repeated, looking at him. Aziraphale’s large dark eyes blinked. “S’what I did. Before. Star construction. Some nebulas. Think I told you already, but you were. I dunno. Pears.”

“No wonder we never ran into each other before, then,” Aziraphale said, flashing a smile and retreating back into the hut to continue packing. They didn’t have much—didn’t _need_ much—so Crawly had no idea what Aziraphale was actually up to. Not like he was going to offer to help, anyway; Aziraphale might make him _carry_ something. Downright undignified, for the brains of the operation. Crawly toyed with the hem of his robe instead and thought grumbling thoughts.

“Thank you, by the way,” Aziraphale said from the hut. Crawly startled. Demons didn’t…well. Hardly fair to say what demons did and didn’t do when it was just them up here, now, was it?

“What for?” Crawly said instead of “shut up”.

“For…standing up to Michael. For me.” Aziraphale exited the hut with the pack on his shoulder, looking up at Crawly from under his feathery pale lashes. Something about it made Crawly’s throat constrict.

“Well—well. Not her business to be rude, is it,” Crawly mumbled. “S’my job.”

“Our job,” Aziraphale said, holding out a hand to help Crawly up. Crawly took it and was violently nonchalant about it when Aziraphale let go immediately after. “Oh, dear, Hell will be rather cross when they hear about what happened, won’t they.”

“Yeah,” Crawly said gruffly. “I dare any of them to come up here and deal with her. One-way ticket to discorporation.”

“That does sound unpleasant,” Aziraphale shuddered. Then he paused. “Crawly…would any of them try? Would Hell…replace us?”

“In a heartbeat,” Crawly said, and then his words caught up. “Oh. Uh. Hmm.”

“I don’t want to go back to Hell,” Aziraphale said in a small voice. His grip on the strap of the knapsack tightened as he twisted it in his anxious fists.

“No, nor do I,” Crawly grimaced. “We’ll think of something.”

“Best think while we walk,” Aziraphale said, shifting the knapsack on his shoulder. “She was looking at the way we came while we were leaving. It’s not safe to stay here.”

“She has to sit through Eve’s questions first, that should give us a head start,” Crawly snickered.

“You don’t think she’d…she’d hurt the humans, do you?” Aziraphale fretted as they began making their way towards the deserted horizon. “For questioning?”

Crawly opened his mouth to reply and found he couldn’t. He closed it again and settled on shrugging.

“Don’t know,” he eventually grunted. “Keep walking, angel. We’ll find a new spot and check in on them in a few days.”

They walked for several days, mostly in silence, circling the beacon of angelic power that Michael gave off. When it became obvious that Michael wasn’t going anywhere, Crawly felt it was time to stop and regroup, maybe weigh their options.

“We should…and I cannot believe I’m saying this…we should report to Hell,” Crawly said, watching as Aziraphale cleaned the fish he’d caught from a stream running through Adam and Eve’s oasis. “This seems like something they should know, if she’s going to be here long-term.”

“I think you’re right,” Aziraphale said gently, resting the fish meat on a hot rock over their fire. “We should…have a plan. In case they try to reassign us.”

“Right.” Crawly chewed the inside of his cheek. They didn’t need to eat. It was probably irresponsible or something, to eat some of the fish that Adam and Eve needed to feed their family. Probably why it was actually a capital demonic idea, then, eating when one didn’t actually have to. Helped that the fish smelled good. But fish wasn’t what Crawly needed to be focusing on. Nor was the anticipation in Aziraphale’s face. Just distracting, that.

“Crawly,” Aziraphale said softly, “what if…they split us up?”

“Split us up?” Crawly frowned. The idea was absurd, in an unexpectedly painful sort of way. “No, no, I think I’ve—hang on.” He jumped up and started pacing, thinking. Michael was probably stationed on Earth, like they were. Michael was an Archangel. Michael was extremely powerful and bad news. “Splitting us up…with Michael here?” he thought out loud. “No, no, no, would be political suicide for Hell.”

“Suppose they replace us, then,” Aziraphale answered. “With someone more on Michael’s…level.”

“Like who?”

“Oh…I don’t know,” Aziraphale sighed. “She overthrew Lucifer, you know. In the War.”

“Everyone knows that,” Crawly grimaced. “If she’s stronger than Satan…well, no way to tell, is there, Satan draws power from Hell now. Could be a lot stronger. But he’s busy, isn’t he, King of Hell and all.”

“They could promote us,” Aziraphale said. “Grant us a bigger power budget, between us.”

“Not sure they’d go for that,” Crawly mused.

“Surely they could see the sense in making sure their star tempters don’t get their brains smitten to the stones every time they try to get some work done,” Aziraphale replied.

“Or they’d tell us what I thought at first—we outnumber her, so we should be a match,” Crawly sighed, settling back down. “Give me some time to think on it, I’ll…figure it out.”

This became a bit difficult when Aziraphale passed Crawly his portion of fish and then started in on his own. If Crawly lived a million, billion years, he would never stop being fascinated by the way Aziraphale ate his food—it was just obscene, really, all that gasping and moaning. Crawly managed to take two absentminded bites before Aziraphale finished his fish, licking the grease from his fingers and sighing. Crawly wordlessly passed the rest of his portion over and for his trouble was granted one of those shy, sweet smiles that were starting to accumulate at an alarming rate in Crawly’s subconscious.

“We’ll figure something out,” Crawly said in a tone of voice he would have been offended to have called gentle. “Promise. We’ve…got to stick together, don’t we.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone in the dark, flickers of scarlet from the fire and the luminous disk of a night-hunting predator that would one day inspire horror stories to catch glimpses of in the night. He smiled and inserted the final scrap of fish between his lips, rasping his tongue along the pads of his fingers and thumb. Crawly’s guts spasmed.

“Of course we do,” Aziraphale said.

.

Hell was even worse than Crawly remembered.

It was a real struggle to not reach out and hold Aziraphale’s hand—or even grasp his sleeve—while they navigated the labyrinthine corridors crammed with demons trying to get to one department or another. They were due for a hearing with Beelzebub, freshly-crowned Prince of Hell with the ichor still dripping down zir face from where ze’d torn the crown of horns from the previous Prince’s skull. Every now and then they’d get separated and have to backtrack, which made their journey take longer. At least wings out was no longer in vogue—Crawly shuddered to think what trying to get through the queue would be like with people’s wings out on display, ripe for the plucking. Would be worse than a chicken coop, he was certain.

Eventually they made it to Beelzebub’s office, Aziraphale’s curls lank with sweat and his face a fair sight more feathery than it was on the surface, and Crawly a bit dingy from being shoved into walls and sporting more scales, but at least they were both in one piece and both here. They shared a look—inscrutable on Crawly’s end, openly anxious on Aziraphale’s—and Crawly reached out and knocked.

“Come in,” the Prince of Hell buzzed.

Crawly took point, sauntering into the office like he belonged there, navigating the garbage and shards of broken furniture with ease. He spread his arms and took an exaggerated bow. “Nice digs, your nibs,” he said, adding a flourish to his posturing. Behind him, he saw Aziraphale take a neat little bob and keep his eyes down. Good.

“Crawly,” Beelzebub greeted, sounding bored out of zir mind, though zir desk was already flooded with bits and ends with reports scrawled and gouged into them. “To what do we owe the displeasure?”

“Well, Aziraphale and I were at our post—sowing discord, poking kids with sticks, you know the drill—when we were, um.” Crawly sighed. “Well, not ousted, we weren’t ousted, but we thought Hell might like to know the Archangel Michael is up there.”

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow.

“Seems to have taken a permanent posting, herself,” Crawly hinted.

Beelzebub’s other eyebrow joined the first.

“I szee,” ze said. “Did she have her Szzpear?”

“Not that we could tell,” Crawly shook his head. “Aziraphale and I thought it best to…regroup. Waste of a good corporation, to get smited the second Michael shows up without even knowing what she’s there for.”

“Feathery prickszz,” Beelzebub mumbled under zir breath. “That’s cheating.”

Beelzebub fell silent, and not the kind of silence Crawly felt it was best to fill. Aziraphale, apparently, had other plans.

“We—we were wondering,” Aziraphale squeaked, and Crawly looked over his shoulder with a wide-eyed glare, which did nothing to deter Aziraphale’s babbling, “if perhaps—if your Lowness would be so kind—that is to say, so cruel—as to, to—perhaps—grant Crawly and I a little…boost?”

“A boost,” Beelzebub said flatly.

Crawly took a moment to mouth a frantic “what are you doing?” at Aziraphale, who gave a small wiggle and shrug but kept his attention on Beelzebub.

“It’s—it’s only to say,” Aziraphale stammered, “that perhaps, ah, Crawly and I would be more useful…to Hell, of course, and, and to you—if we…maybe…received a promotion?”

“A promotion,” Beelzebub repeated. Zir eyebrows were lifting perilously high again.

“Aha,” Crawly said weakly, “of course—big jokester, Aziraphale, keeps me in stitches, what a demon, we—we don’t need a promotion, no, not unless you’re willing to give us one, but what Aziraphale means is—”

“Szilence,” Beelzebub said, and Crawly complied, snapping his mouth shut hard enough to crack a tooth. Aziraphale pressed behind him, and Crawly felt Aziraphale grab a small pinch of his robe to worry between his fingers. So long as Aziraphale didn’t put holes in it with the talons he’d started growing as soon as they crossed the border into Hell—

Beelzebub stood, the open sores on zir face pulsing, and walked around zir desk. Ze then walked in front of Crawly, who did his best not to take several steps back, unless of course it was what Beelzebub seemed to want. Ze seemed content to stop in front of him and look him over with piercing blue eyes, then stared at Aziraphale.

“The bit with the apple waszz clever,” Beelzebub said. “But it’s old newsz. We need szzzomething…new.” Ze crossed zir arms. “I’m willing to…conszider…the idea of a promotion. Michael being there iszzn’t ideal, but it’sz czertainly an intereszzting opportunity.”

“Opportunity,” Crawly repeated. “What…what kind of opportunity?”

“An opportunity to show uszz that our placement of you two chuckleheadszzz wasn’t misplaczzed,” Beelzebub replied. “Szmall fights, marital diszputes, theszze are…cute. We’re looking for something bigger, szzomething better. More flash, more pizzazz.”

“Flash,” Crawly mused. “Right.”

“More szzztyle,” Beelzebub said, and returned to zir desk. “It’s important that the humanszz be allowed to spread; the Son of our Lord muszzt be born human in the end times, and szzo humans muszzt be. You have no time limit on thiszz, but conszzider that you will have no further assistance from Hell outszzide of your own powerszzz without proving you are worth the inveszztment.”

“So…to get this straight,” Crawly said after working the barest bit of moisture back in his mouth, “you want us…to go up there and cause trouble…with Michael hanging around.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, for two szzmart demonszz like you,” Beelzebub said airily, stretching out in zir throne and setting zir feet on the detritus. “Be clever, cause some chaos even with the fusswingszzz watching, and we’ll talk about a promotion.”

“Right,” Crawly said, recognizing the dismissal as Beelzebub’s attention drifted. “We’ll just…get on that.”

Crawly turned and hustled Aziraphale out before he could say anything else, but given the look on Aziraphale’s face, speech had fled him entirely. They waited until they were in a dank corner far away from Beelzebub’s office, and then Crawly released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That was close,” he muttered. “Too closssse.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m—ever so sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt out like that.”

“Can’t be helped now,” Crawly grunted. “Already done. Least we got out of there without any—”

A hand grabbed Crawly’s shoulder and pivoted him around, and Crawly blinked into the bald, flat-eyed scowl of the demon that had shoved him at the ceiling in the first place—Hastur, he thought. Hastur was flanked by another demon whose eyes were changing color, who had backed Aziraphale up against the wall and was sizing him up.

“There you are,” Hastur snarled, and shoved Crawly into the slimy bricks. “Been waiting for you to get back down here, Crawly.”

Crawly held his breath again. Hastur’s breath was absolutely foul, like something died in a bog. “What’d I do?” he wheezed.

“Nothing,” Hastur said, and smiled, putting his mossy teeth on display. “I just don’t like your face.”

“Hardly fair—” Crawly muttered, and then gasped when Hastur slammed him against the bricks so hard his head cracked against them.

“This is Hell. Hell ain’t fair,” Hastur hissed, and drew back his fist. There was immediately a scuffle to Crawly’s right, and before Hastur’s punch could land, a pale hand clamped onto Hastur’s wrist.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said, his voice polite and cold, “but I would appreciate it if you would stop.”

Hastur blinked at him, and with neat, precise movements, Aziraphale pulled Hastur off of Crowley entirely and deposited him next to the other demon Hastur had brought with him, who was out cold on the floor. A sharp jab to the temple crumpled Hastur to the ground, and Crawly felt a hand closing around his.

“We might have to make a run for it,” Aziraphale said, and Crawly let himself be pulled after, still trying to process what had just happened. The two of them were back at camp, gasping for air, before Crawly’s world stopped spinning long enough to take stock of the situation.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, nudging Crawly with his foot from where Crawly had dropped and refused to move. Crawly craned his neck to look over at Aziraphale and took in the concerned face, the rosy cheeks, the tousled curls. Just like an angel on a Christmas card, this one. Downright cherubic, as the humans would one day erroneously say.

“Fine,” Crawly wheezed. “You…how? With the…thing?”

“Soldier,” Aziraphale said, gesturing vaguely at himself. “Remember?”

“Right,” Crawly said, and started laughing. “I think we’ve made enemies, angel.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, I imagine,” Aziraphale said mildly. There was a brief pulse of angelic power in the distance, which silenced both demons for a short time. Crawly wriggled backwards until he was level with where Aziraphale was sitting, then sat up.

“What’re we going to do about her, reckon?” Crawly frowned.

“We’re two resourceful demons,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

“Sure,” Crawly sighed, leaning back. “Resourceful. Clever, clever us.”

No need to let Aziraphale know that Crawly had just decided to do everything in his power to make sure nobody took Aziraphale away from him, or him from Aziraphale. He’d catch on soon enough. Maybe faster, if he ever tried to leave. He was too useful. Strong. Warm. Bit naïve, but that was charming.

No, Crawly was quite content with this current arrangement. They just had to figure out either how to get some more firepower on their side, or how to coexist with an angel intent on making them feel her wrath.

Simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their dynamic is ever so fun; we might have more interactions with Michael soon. Not sure, because I'm not planning this beforehand and I don't know where this crazy train is going! Stay safe, have fun!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! It's been a little while!
> 
> Warnings for Cain and Abel, a furious and confused Michael, and very little Crowley and Aziraphale in this one. They'll be back next time. Darker and more bleak tone for this chapter than I was expecting but we'll get back into the lighter tone later.
> 
> Also, I realize I brushed up against some Jewish culture in this one and I am sorry if I did it wrong, but given that Cain and Abel is part of the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic tradition, I tried to use as broad a stroke as possible and take some narrative liberties. Also probably invented irrigation and mentioned the farming method of the Fertile Crescent without actually saying they're in the Fertile Crescent, so I'm also sorry about my lazy worldbuilding/historical portrayal. Mainly wanted to get the character bits.

In the end, Michael did not stay with Adam and Eve and their brood the entire time, though when she first left the little humans latched onto her hands and wailed.

“They like you,” Eve explained, still skittish as Michael turned questioning eyes on her but not backing away as she had in the past. Eve gently untangled Abel’s fingers from around Michael’s wrist and lifted him onto her hip, then started working on Cain’s hands.

“I’ll be back,” Michael said, watching as Abel’s face screwed up and began to leak. She was given to understand that sort of response meant he was in some kind of pain, but he didn’t look injured. Cain held on tight but between Michael slipping her hand free and Eve holding him back, he didn’t stand a chance. He glared, then ran off, stomping all the way. Eve sighed and petted Abel’s hair instead as he began to howl.

“They’ll be alright,” Eve said, and gave Michael a tight smile. “Safe travels, Archangel.”

“Of course.” Michael nodded, spread her wings, and flew away, Abel’s cries still ringing in her ears.

Michael circled the Earth several times, checking on the state of things. It seemed that the rest of the world was progressing as expected—vegetation everywhere, climates of all kinds, animals of all stripes and varieties. Michael took some time to walk through rain forests and up mountains that had never seen a living soul before. She observed rainstorms and blizzards and tornadoes. She observed the stars in the sky from hundreds of different vantage points. Stars were enormous balls of gas burning a billion miles away, but here on Earth their light was delicate, ethereal; they reminded her uncomfortably of the One who had been the greatest help in putting them in their spheres. Michael stretched out on a rock still warm from the sun that had sunk hours ago and mapped the stars above with her eyes, then with her finger, counting and categorizing and starting over when her corporation’s eyes began to burn from being open too long.

_Michael! Michael! Look what I made!_

Michael closed her eyes tight and sat up. No. There was no one here to see her descend into maudlin recollection but that meant nothing. The Archangel Michael had done her duty to her Lord. Lucifer had been a danger to himself and others and had no place in Heaven. Michael did not regret casting him away from the Host.

The stars twinkled overhead, silent and present.

.

By the time Michael made it back to the oasis, there were quite a few more people there, of varying ages. As soon as she landed she was knocked off her feet and held in large arms, and it took a great force of will for Michael to not immediately attack whatever was holding her captive. It took her a moment to recognize the face, but she soon did.

“Abel?” Michael asked, and Abel nodded, his eyes dancing and mouth laughing. “You’ve…grown.”

“Tends to happen, when you’re human,” Abel said, and he turned to the cluster of mud huts making something of a village. “Hey! Michael’s back!”

Michael found herself surrounded on all sides by curious children and adults who had not been there when she was there last, and eventually the crowd was pushed through by a greying Adam and large-bellied Eve, the former of whom bowed and the latter of whom grabbed Michael’s hand in a friendly press.

“Welcome back,” Eve said, and Michael looked around her, then back down at Eve’s belly.

“Are all these yours?” Michael asked, and Eve laughed.

“Many, but not all,” Eve said warmly. “Come on, supper’s almost ready, we’ll introduce you.”

Michael declined any offers of food but listened as Abel and Eve recounted the many decades of history Michael had missed in her travels. She learned names and faces. She learned who was married to whom, who tended the sheep, who built the huts, who fished. An absence that had been niggling in her brain since the beginning finally surfaced.

“Where’s Cain?” Michael asked. Abel’s open, smiling face shuttered some.

“In his fields,” Abel said. “He’s very excited about a new form of watering he came up with, calls it irrigation. He doesn’t like to be disturbed from his work.”

“I see,” Michael said, and felt a small tug on her wings. She shook them on instinct and heard a small cry, and when she turned around she saw that she had accidentally knocked a small girl on her back, who was clutching a loose feather in her chubby fist. Michael stared at the girl, who stared back at her, and after a moment the girl’s face welled up and she began wailing much as Abel had when Michael left. The child’s mother caught her up and soothed her, prying the feather out of the child’s hand, and Michael swallowed something tight and uncomfortable down when the mother held the feather back out to her.

“She can keep it,” Michael said, and the mother bobbed and gave the feather back to the girl, who stopped crying immediately once she had it back. Michael flapped her wings once more. She’d never had a loose feather before.

Michael stood. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said stiffly, and inclined her head at Adam and Eve, seated around the fire with the rest of their family spread around them. “Erm. Peace be with you.”

Michael walked away from the cooking fire, chasing the awkwardness from her belly with fierce determination. She had no destination in mind, but sooner or later found herself on the edge of a field of orderly crops, with three people standing in it and talking.

“—going to flood in the rainy season,” one of them was saying, and Michael recognized the voice with a jolt of disdain. Aziraphale.

“That’s the point,” the human that must’ve been Cain replied. “We get in the harvest before, then the waters rise and leave behind good soil for the next planting. Then the flood fills the irrigation canals for the fields that don’t need flooding—”

“Brilliant,” the other demon said, the redheaded one, Squirmy or something.

“I know,” Cain said. The hard notes of his voice were unfamiliar to Michael; Cain had been the more serious of the two children, in her experience, but he sounded far more calloused to her now. Proud, perhaps. “More useful than chasing after those wooly beasts any day.”

“Both are equally important,” Aziraphale said, and Michael cleared her throat loudly. As soon as they saw her, the demons both reacted, Aziraphale flinching and the snake swearing profusely. Cain held up his farming implement, some kind of stick with a curved flat stone blade on the end, and glared at her.

“Who are you?” Cain said harshly. Michael raised an eyebrow at him and spread her wings a little more fully, flapping them once for emphasis. Cain lowered his tool but his face, as far as Michael could tell in the dark, remained impassive and suspicious.

“We’ll talk later, Cain, old mate,” the redheaded demon said, and the two demons beat a hasty retreat away. Michael sighed through her nose. She hadn’t sensed the demons’ auras in the village, but their stench was strong here in the field. She walked through the rows of crops to where Cain was standing, watching the direction the demons had gone but keeping an eye on Cain as well.

“It’s been some time,” Michael said, and Cain nodded. “I see my warnings of not keeping company with demons has been forgotten.”

“It is none of your business whose company I keep,” Cain replied, and Michael let one corner of her mouth twitch in a grimace. “They, at least, appreciate all the work I do to keep my family alive.”

Michael had no immediate response and instead looked to the crops. They did appear to be healthy, strong and well-watered. Michael nodded once in satisfaction.

“Did they tell you to do this?” Michael asked. “This…irrigation?”

“It’s my own idea,” Cain said, his hand tightening on his farming tool. “If you’re done insulting me, I have work to do.”

Michael found she had no further things to say and left Cain to his moonlight inspection of his field. The unsettled, squirming feeling was still in her belly.

As soon as Michael cleared the edge of the oasis, there was a flash of light, and Gabriel stood in the desert sands, beaming at her. Michael felt a rush of emotions then, predominantly of which was relief mingled strongly with irritation.

“Gabriel,” Michael nodded. “Are you here to send me home?”

“Not quite,” Gabriel shook his head. “We’ve got your next assignment. Real small, shouldn’t take long at all.”

“What is it?” Michael asked, and Gabriel unhooked a scroll from his hip and held it out to her.

“Details are all in here,” Gabriel said, and clapped Michael on the shoulder. “You’re a champ, Mike, keep up the good work!” And he disappeared, leaving Michael in the desert with a scroll and a filling throat of vitriol she longed to spit in his face. Grimacing and swallowing it down, Michael instead unrolled the scroll and began to read.

.

“I don’t understand,” Cain said, and in the light his face was no less hard and impassive. “Why are we doing this?”

“It’s the will of the Almighty,” Michael said, resisting the urge to stretch her wings in front of the gathered crowd. “From the eldest sons of Adam and Eve, two sacrifices must be made of the firstlings of the flocks, without blemish or spot.”

“I see.” Abel put his hands on his hips. “When should it be done?”

“At first light,” Michael said. There were murmurs and doubtful looks within the gathered folk of the village, which further set her teeth on edge. She allowed her wings to stretch then, catching the sun in a visual recapturing of attention. “The sacrifices are to be of the very highest quality and must be unbroken and unspoiled to be fit offerings. I will give you today to prepare.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Cain said, crossing his arms. “I don’t keep flocks, Abel does. Where am I going to find a firstling to offer?”

“You can have one of mine, I don’t mind,” Abel said, and his bright smile wilted under Cain’s fierce glare. “Consider it a gift. I can give you several of the—”

“I have no need for your animals and I won’t accept your charity,” Cain snapped. “They’re already nuisances who can’t keep out of my crops and break any fence I try to build, I won’t have them constantly underfoot.” Cain’s fiery eyes turned to Michael. “And anyway, it’s a waste. Those are resources that could be going towards keeping our people fed and clothed. The Almighty never required this of us before. Why would She start now?”

“The Almighty’s timing is Her own,” Michael frowned, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “I will return at dawn to see the sacrifices done, to the letter as required.” With that, Michael used a brief miracle to vanish from sight, although she didn’t actually move from where she was. She watched as the village descended into discussion, and kept a close eye on Cain. He was scowling, glaring at the dirt, and when Abel approached him, he snarled wordlessly and turned on his heel, leaving Abel with an outstretched hand and a resigned expression.

Michael frowned deeper. When had that started, this animosity? They got along alright as children. And it wasn’t like what the Lord was asking was outlandish. Individual cattle were lost all the time in random accidents. What were two more?

Michael kept her distance from the village, consulting her scroll and trying to divine insight or guidance from it beyond its sparse wording. Uriel must have transcribed it, although it had the Metatron’s seal to mark it as authentic direction from Her. Why require an animal sacrifice from Cain, who didn’t own them or even like them? More than that, why would Cain refuse Abel’s offer of help? Why were humans so—so difficult? Why couldn’t they just do as they were told?

It must have had something to do with the apple, Michael thought grimly, that’s the only thing that made sense. Something about knowing Good and Evil made humanity unpredictable, antagonistic. Well. It couldn’t be un-eaten any more than the sun could be reversed in its path, not without an extraordinary amount of paperwork and power expenditure. Michael just had to trust that this was part of the Plan. She worked through the night building altars as Uriel had sketched in a corner of the instructions, and waited as the day began to dawn for Cain and Abel to arrive.

Abel was first, a lamb slung over his shoulders, and he handled it carefully as he lowered it to the altar on Michael’s right.

“Bind its legs,” Michael instructed, and Abel did as asked, petting the lamb and making soothing noises as it struggled.

“Is this really necessary?” Abel asked quietly, and Michael nodded once. Abel sighed but didn’t speak further.

Cain arrived soon after, a basket in his hands and his face defiant. He set the basket on the altar, glanced at Abel, and uncovered what he had brought. Michael stared at the pile of ripe vegetables and fruits inside.

“That’s not what you were required to bring,” Michael said.

“I have no sheep of my own,” Cain said shortly. “I have brought the best of my harvest instead. If the Lord requires sacrifice, it will be sacrifice enough to part with the fruit of my labors.”

Michael felt a ringing starting up in her ears, one she was unfamiliar with. “Your efforts are appreciated,” Michael said, “but that is not what you were instructed to prepare.”

Cain glared at her, his jaw working, his fists opening and closing.

“Take mine, then,” Abel said, looking to Michael but stepping sideways towards Cain. “I have others, if it’ll fulfil the requirement for Cain—”

“It’s not my fault that the Lord asks what I cannot give,” Cain spat. “Why ask for something I don’t have? What is so special about Abel’s beasts that my crops can’t match?”

“It is not for us to question,” Michael said, letting thunder crackle in her voice. “It is only for us to obey, and you have not obeyed.”

“Cain—” Abel reached for his brother’s shoulder, and Cain growled, pushing Abel aside.

“Don’t patronize me,” Cain snarled. “It’s always like this, ever since—what I do and give is never good enough, it’s always Abel, everything is about Abel, Abel is the golden child, the blessed one—”

“That is irrelevant to the fact that you have not brought a proper sacrifice,” Michael thundered, and both brothers fell silent as Michael’s wings crackled with lightning. “Cain, you have been asked of the Lord to provide—”

“And I gave what I had!” Cain roared, throwing his basket at Michael’s feet. It split and tipped, scattering the food within. “If I am not sufficient, have Abel make the sacrifices, have him receive the blessings. I’m used to not being enough.” Cain whirled around and stalked off, and Michael watched him go. There was a feeling on the wind that Michael hadn’t felt since…she shivered. She knew that feeling, that aura. Her instincts cried that she needed to neutralize the threat, to pursue the air of violence surrounding Cain and quench it. Her duty reminded her that Abel was still there with a bound lamb, looking after Cain and chewing his lip.

“I’ll give him some time to cool off,” Abel said, and tried to smile at Michael, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “How…how do we make the sacrifice?”

Michael walked him through it but even as the flames consumed Abel’s offering the uneasy feeling didn’t leave Michael’s innards. The ringing in her ears continued, softer but still present, every time she looked towards the fields where Cain was no doubt stewing.

“I’ll talk to him,” Abel said once the sacrifice was complete and consumed. He gathered up the fallen produce and stacked it in the ruined basket, holding the mess in his arms and giving Michael another incomplete smile. “Sometimes he just…it’s alright. He’ll make the sacrifice when he’s ready.”

Michael stood by the altars as Abel returned to the village, staring between the two of them and wondering why she had an urge to run after Abel. It was illogical; there was no reason to accompany him to talk to Cain. Nothing was wrong besides Cain’s sour attitude.

She shifted her wings and did not look into the sky.

.

Michael’s ears were still ringing as she stood over the grave, deafening now as she looked blankly at the freshly-turned earth. The ringing had been all Michael had heard since the afternoon several days ago. Nothing—not Eve’s screams, not Abel’s children’s wailing, not even Cain roaring at the sky, answering a voice only he seemed to perceive, had penetrated Michael’s ears.

Cain was gone, now. He and his had gathered up his tools and what seeds and food they could carry and disappeared into the wilderness. Michael stared down at the place where they had lain Abel’s still, stiff body. There was a flicker of thought in her mind, like the sparkling flash of Abel’s laughing eyes. Mortality and death had gotten a brief mention in the Welcome to Earth packet, of course; it was an inevitability for creatures living on Earth, a demarcation of the separation of spirit and flesh. Good spirits went to Heaven and bad spirits went to Hell. Michael supposed someone had to be the first. In all honesty she had expected Adam, or perhaps even one of the babies, to be first. Not someone who still had so much life in him.

This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be part of the Plan. Abel was innocent, good—surely Cain’s actions…they couldn’t be how it was supposed to go.

If something was out of order with the Plan, Michael supposed it was her duty to right it.

She focused on the earth, on the body beneath it, and began to draw on angelic power. It would be simple enough to reconstruct the skull, to heal it from the vicious blows it had sustained. Then it was a matter of de-congealing the blood, loosening the ligaments, re-starting the heart—

**YOU CANNOT.**

Michael jumped, lashing out with the power she had been gathering, and it crackled harmlessly off of the ragged black cloak of the figure beside her. Michael hadn’t seen him approach, hadn’t seen him at all since—not since—

**HIS DEATH IS FINAL. YOU CANNOT REVERSE IT.**

“Of course I can,” Michael snarled. “Who are you to tell me otherwise?”

Empty sockets looked over towards Michael and she got the strangest sense that she was being…pitied.

**YOU DID NOT REACT SO WHEN THE WAR WAS IN ITS FULL FRENZY. THAT IS FOR THE BEST. IT IS NOT FOR YOU AND I TO MATCH OUR STRENGTHS, ARCHANGEL MICHAEL.**

“Those who fell in the—” Michael choked around the word as she never before had, but forced herself to say it, “—in the War knew what they were getting into. He didn’t. He didn’t ask for this.”

The figure in black continued to stare at her and Michael continued to get the sense that he was shaking his head over her argument.

 **IT WAS HIS TIME,** the figure said after a long moment of heaving silence. **ALL LIVING THINGS MUST PERISH IN TIME. ONE DAY EVEN TIME ITSELF WILL DIE.**

“Not today,” Michael said, and reached for her power again. This time the black figure unfolded his wings, shapes of void against the dark night, distant pinpricks of light floating now and again across them.

 **I WILL HAVE WHAT IS MINE AND IT WILL NOT BE TAKEN FROM ME AGAIN.** The figure held out a skeletal hand, and a long hook-bladed thing appeared in it, something that resembled Cain’s farming tool. The blade looked like beaten, tarnished iron, but when it slashed across Michael’s wings, it flashed like silver. Michael didn’t feel a physical cut, but rather a barrier, a block, between herself and her angelic power. Her throat bobbed, her stomach burned. The ringing in her ears was so loud.

**BE STILL.**

Michael dropped to her knees, breathing hard. She’d never breathed hard before in her life, but then, she had never felt such a complete lack of Grace before. She thrashed her wings and strained as hard as she could for anything, any power at all, and met only the implacable barricade Death had erected between herself and her connection to the Almighty.

**IT WILL FADE IN TIME. BUT IF YOU TRY TO RAISE THIS MAN AGAIN, I WILL KNOW.**

Michael breathed, sucking in one breath after another. She looked up to retort but found herself alone again, just a battered angel kneeling in the dirt. Her wings ached. Her fingers hurt from digging into the soil.

Of course, that was the moment that the wind changed direction and brought Michael the stench of demonic intent.

She heard them approaching, noisy as humans and infinitely more irritating, and for the first time felt a twinge of fear. There were two of them, and she was still cut off, she could feel it in the way her corporation continued to draw breath rather than persist on her own willpower. She cast her eyes about wildly for something—anything—to defend herself with. A stick would do, at this point. A rock. She spied a large pebble near her hand and scrabbled for it.

“Michael?” she heard Aziraphale say, far too close for comfort, and with a wild yowl Michael whirled around and heaved her rock. It made a satisfying _thunk_ as it collided with Aziraphale’s head, opening up a cut on his brow that began to bleed immediately. Aziraphale yelped and reeled back.

“This is your doing,” Michael said between heaving breaths. “You—you filthy, traitorous—”

“We had nothing to do with it!” the redhead snarled, putting himself between Aziraphale and Michael.

“You were talking to Cain several nights ago!” Michael roared. “You tempted him to do this, you put the idea in his head! Abel is dead because of you!”

“We never!” Aziraphale cried, holding his sleeve to his cut and trembling behind his companion.

“Nothing to do with us, Cain thought it up all on his own!” the redhead spat. Michael reached for another rock and threw it with all her might. It disintegrated in a flash of hellfire as the redhead snapped his fingers, and despite herself Michael flinched. She had to get away from here. She staggered to her feet, her wings flapping to help with balance, and heard Aziraphale gasp. Michael looked at her wings. There were silver feathers on the ground.

“I know it was you,” she said, wrenching her eyes away from her wings. She would deal with them later. “This is all your fault.”

“Who was the one who wouldn’t accept Cain’s sacrifice even though it was still something of value?” the redhead argued. “You knew he didn’t keep sheep. Heaven had to know that. Who set him up to fail? Because it certainly wasn’t us.”

“Crawly, please,” Aziraphale whimpered, pulling on his companion’s sleeve, and Michael studied the redheaded demon’s furious, terrified face. Crawly. She would remember that next time. Crawly’s yellow snake’s eyes glittered at her, dancing like hellfire.

She had to get away.

“Next time I see you,” Michael growled, “I will smite you. I will smite you until you are both smears on the ground who can’t hurt anyone else ever again.”

With that she retreated. Not running away, she told herself, a tactical retreat. She was cut off from her powers and something was wrong with her wings; in her state, the demons could have dispatched her easily, no matter that they were weak bottom-feeders. It was incredible good luck that they let her go in the first place. Divine provenance, perhaps, though the thought felt more like a slap in the face than a comfort.

On her own two feet, Michael didn’t get far enough away to not see the oasis still on the horizon, but that was plenty far enough to collapse onto her knees again, shivering and shaking and drawing her wings around her against the desert chill. She waited until her breath evened out, more or less. Then she spread her wings to inspect them.

There weren’t enough missing feathers to constitute bald patches or gaps, but they did look more ragged. Michael shook them and combed her fingers through them and no more feathers dropped.

Those—those _demons_.

Something had to be done about them.

She sprawled on her back, her wings spread out wide, and let her unfocused gaze comb over the starry skies.

_What, suddenly my stars aren’t good enough for our Mother anymore?_

Michael was surprised when a broken roar of heartbreak and fury tore itself from her throat. She was even more surprised to find moisture dripping down her face from her stinging eyes, turning the sky above into a dark and smudgy blur.

Death had said the block wouldn’t last forever. The moment she could use her power again, she was going demon hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. Michael sure has some issues to work out.


End file.
